


Striking Out

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Bad german, Gen, Hamburg, Hamburg Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:38:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7556854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: How about while they're in Hamburg (1961??), one of the Beatles meets a girl who happens to be from England? But much to his dismay, she doesn't like the Beatles!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Striking Out

“Ey, do you think we’re any good without Stuart?”

John looked into Paul’s wide, worried eyes, before grabbing the German beer and taking a sip, appearing to deliberate on the idea for a moment.

“We were never any good _with_ ‘im, lad.” He grinned, widely, and then his head appeared to swivel as if his vertebrae were greased; Paul raised an eyebrow, and then turned his head. “ _Guten morgen_ …”

The girl was wearing a dark woollen dress with kitten heels, and to be honest if she’d been wearing a potato sack she probably would’ve attracted John’s attention; John patted Paul on the arm.

“Go find Pete, I’m goin’ in.”

“I don’ wanna find Pete!” Paul said indignantly, but John was already adjusting the moptop haircut that still looked so strange on his head – all of them supposed it would grow in in time, except Pete who had staunchly refused – and sauntering over.

“ _Hallo_ ,” John grinned, and the girl raised an eyebrow. “ _Wo ist die Bushaltestelle?_ ”

“‘ey, Pete,” Paul said gloomily, and the drummer slid into the chair next to him. “Where’s George?”

“I’unno. What’s John doin’?” Pete asked, and Paul nodded his head towards the two by the bar. “…oh, pullin’.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m out tonight anyway so…”

“Where?” Paul asked.

“I beg your pardon?” the girl asked, and a wide, shit-eating grin split John’s face.

“Yer a Yank!” he crowed, and the girl tilted her head. “Well, my love… how are you findin’ it here?” The girl looked around, and took a step back.

“John’s strikin’ out,” Pete grinned.

“He’s _not_ ,” Paul gasped, a smile coming to his lips.

“I’m sorry, what’s yer name again?” John asked, and the girl raised an eyebrow.

“Marlene, and… I don’t really need to know yours,” she said, looking him up and down, and John floundered for a moment. “Why does your hair look like that?”

“Because I’m a Beatle, love.” John leaned on the bar, and not so subtly, whilst adjusting his hair again, managed to point at the poster that advertised their presence. “So, love…”

“You’re a Beatle?” the girl asked, eyes wide and head still cocked inquisitively.

“He’s not,” Paul said, eyes narrowed a little as he tried to process the situation.

“Lad, he’s strikin’ out,” Pete said, nodding slowly. “Just watch.”

“Yeah, I am,” John grinned, and Marlene looked around.

“Are those your bandmates?” she asked, gesturing towards Pete and Paul, who suddenly were very interested in their own drinks. “Really?” John nodded, raising his eyebrows in a way that, two Preludin ago, could’ve been described as ‘sexy’, but currently came across as closer to manic.

“So… love, what brings you here? I’m John… but you knew that.”

“Well,” Marlene said quietly, leaning in confidentially, and John leaned in too.

“He’s not.” Paul folded his arms, and Pete held up his hand.

“I came here with my friend. You see, we’re on vacation together, and while we passed, she came to see a band she’d heard of while we were in Rothenburg.” John grinned, and jabbed a thumb to his chest. “Right, you guys!”

“And?” John smirked. “Were you impressed?”

“Here it comes,” Pete breathed.

“Well, for one… your music was kinda lame,” Marlene sighed, and John froze, eyes wide in confusion. “And for two, the singer was kind of a smarmy jerk.” She shrugged, and Pete shrugged, turning to Paul, who was watching on in barely-disguised glee. “Better look next time, Joe.”

“I-it’s John,” John stammered, but Marlene was already sashaying out, and Pete walked over to John.

“Ah, tragic, lad,” he sighed, and John picked up the rest of his beer, staring after her. “I mean, I can’t blame her.” John slowly and deliberately poured the rest of the beer over Pete’s head, and as Paul snickered at the shocked drummer, he marched after the girl.

“Hey!”


End file.
